How to Bewitch a Winchester
by FallingDomino
Summary: *HALLOWEEN SPECIAL* Dean's always been a little impulsive when it came to his charms. Some might say he's known for them. He has the confidence, the looks, the entire 'hero' persona, and this enables him to 'get his way' with many desirable women. So why is this two-century old wiccan playing hard to get? Rated M for a reason, you have been warned. Season 5 Dean/OC


**HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!**

**I revised, re-wrote, and edited this story so many times and now I'm just sort of getting irritated at myself. I have about five other versions of this story and I hope you like the one I picked out, because I sweat blood and bullets deciding ha.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

**(Not in any shape or form do I own Supernatural or any of its characters, yada yada yada. I only make claims to my OC)**

ONE: 1111 Oldman St.

It wasn't easy being a witch in this day and age. Hell, it really never was. Whilst constantly being judged by their reputation and considered evil and menacing, keeping Layla Knight's identity a secret was mandatory. It was hard enough to try and find a job to survive the New Orleans' streets without having to worry about someone discovering her. What did she really want, even if most assumed was 'capturing human souls' or 'serving some demon lord', was peace. She had spent the last two hundred years running and hiding so she damned well deserved it, gosh darn it.

But no, one problem after another Layla found herself once more in the grasp of another overbearing conundrum. She didn't generally tune in to the human news, but the last seven deaths that occurred in the last two weeks were bound to attract attention to her little corner of the world, and that was the last thing she needed, especially if anyone found out she was involved somehow.

Layla didn't want anyone to get hurt, but she also didn't want anymore trouble. The more she tried to live a normal life, the more the essence of abnormality caged her. But what could she do? Spells for wealth or power cost a great deal, usually a human sacrifice here and there and Layla didn't want to hurt anyone.

So she scrabbled on with life, getting a job here and there when the managers would look past her grungy appearance and hire her. None of them lasted long though; she couldn't go on for a month without lighting a customer's hair on fire or accidentally making it rain inside the building. Many of her bosses could not explain these incidents but all came to the conclusion that Layla was the perpetrator. She occasionally cooked burgers on the sidewalk or sold energy drinks to any of the passing by pedestrians, but these instances were rare.

In the present, she was working as a part time dish washer at a cozy little cafe placed in the more friendly part of New Orleans. It was the best job she had had in three months and although it could hardly pay for even a low budget apartment, it kept food in her stomach.

The little building was decorated for Halloween with little plastic cauldrons placed in the center of each table, cobwebs littering the corners, and cheap paper skeletons taped to the lavender walls. Layla didn't typically like All Hallow's Eve for various reasons. One of them being that she couldn't stand the stereotypes. As cute as it could be, seeing little girls dressed in black and green stockings, warts, and disfigured noses was nothing short of insulting. That look was only created by man so people would turn against witches, for Christ's sake!

Yet that wasn't important now. Layla had no idea that when the shop door bell rung a great deal of her future had just walked in.

She wiped her brow, throwing the dishrag over her shoulder as she took the next load of dishes from the washer and began to dry them and put them away. Her fingers were wrinkly and stinging slightly after washing dishes for the majority of the night and her neck had a horrible cramp that refused to leave. After attending about over three hundred bowls, mugs, and plates, she was finally almost done and she was looking forward to crashing on her bed at home.

"We're gonna be closin' in 'bout ten minutes, sir," Layla's boss, Jerry, informed the newcomer.

"Just need five," responded the other in a mild tone. "Can we ask you a few questions?"

"About?" Jerry inquired wearily.

Layla turned and leaned against the sink to listen, glancing out of the window where the street was now only illuminated by orange street lamps.

"There has been seven deaths in the past two weeks, all occurring on this street. Can you tell us anything about them?"

Layla's heart skipped a beat. She leaned slightly to the right, trying to get a good view of of the stranger. It was two men, both wearing the attire of a neatly pressed suits, making Layla assume they were higher officials of some sort. They looked much too young to be FBI of any sort, yet the next second they whipped out some badges.

Oh no. No, no, no . . . Layla just wanted some quiet and serenity. She couldn't have the authorities looking into this. She didn't do anything! But they would connect her to the incidents, she knew it. And then what would she do? Move on into the next town like she always did when something went wrong.

"I don't know much," said Jerry, scratching his balding head and looking between the two. "Last victim was a girl—Bonnie Cox I think her name was. People said she had cockroaches crawlin' from her throat and choked to death, but I say it was some sick Halloween prank. Other than that, I don't know much else. She only came in here once or twice."

"Does she have any family or friends to speak of?" the taller of the two asked.

"Prolly, but like I said; I know next to nothin'. Might wanna try the bar at the end of the street. Can I help you boys with a last minute treat before you head out?"

"Maybe two cups of coffee to go?"

"Comin' right up. Layla!" said Jerry suddenly, making her head snap up. "You get off in ten, but do you mind makin' two quick cups of coffee?"

"Yeah," replied Layla stiffly, turning and setting to work. As she poured the cups, she quirked her ears to listen to anything else the two detectives had to say, but it seemed they were done. When she emerged from the back, she found them stationed at the table by the window. Two pairs of green eyes flickered onto her as she approached.

"Thanks, sweetheart," said the one in the darker suit, offering her a small coquettish smile before accepting the coffee. Was it normal for agents to flirt around? It didn't seem like it, not to Layla at least.

She didn't want to be around them any longer than needed, but in her haste to hand the coffee to the other, the cup slipped from her fingers and fell over on the tall one's lap.

"Oh, crap," Layla breathed out sharply. "I am _so _sorry. Hang on. Let me get some napkins . . ."

"Don't—worry about it," he said with a small but polite smile as the other let out a short snort of laughter. These guys weren't exactly business-like, were they?

He scooted away from the table, getting to his feet and walking toward the bathroom where his friend followed, still chortling. Layla sighed, tightening the disheveled bun on her head out of nervousness and grabbed a handful of napkins and began to clean up the mess on the floor and table. While walking to throw them away, she was about to turn away but not before she caught a slice of conversation that was spoken on the other side of the men's restroom door.

" . . . Dean, can you hand me another paper towel?"

Layla heard the ripping of paper. "So when we're not dealing with witches on Halloween, you get attacked by waitresses. Hey, she was pretty cute."

"Yeah, that lessens the pain in my burnt leg," the other replied sardonically. There was a small pause. "I don't think it's coming off. Let's just head back to the motel so I can change."

Layla hurried to the back of the cafe just in time for her to hear the bathroom door open again.

"Hey," the one called Dean said to her back. "Can we have another cup?"

Layla glanced at him over her shoulder, nodded once, then attended to the task. She didn't meet the hunter's eyes as she handed him the new cup and merely nodded again when he thanked her with a small wink.

Layla watched them leave until they were almost of sight, then turned to enter the kitchen.

"There you go, doll," said the chef who was kind enough to always make her a bowl of gumbo every night she had a shift.

"Thanks, Greg. Have any plans for tomorrow?" Layla asked, tucking the paper bag under her arm.

"Takin' my daughter out trick-or-treatin' then might take the wife out to the parade. You should come; lots of activities to do."

"Thanks, but I like to lie low on Halloween. I'll see you Friday, then."

"Bye, doll."

Layla unwrapped the apron from around her waist and hung it up on the rack and then released her mane of black ebony curls, releasing a small sigh before leaving the shop. It rarely was ever cold in New Orleans, even in the middle of fall, but strangely the lack of people on the dimly lit boulevard made it seem more chilly.

As she started walking down the street, she wondered what she was going to do about her hunter problem. Obviously, they were going to be more of a pain than the authority because they would be specifically looking for the supernatural, and they already knew the perpetrator was a witch. She wasn't sure how she was going to explain that she was not the witch they were looking for. But like every other hunter she had ever come to pass, they didn't give a damn who she was or what kind of life she led. They only cared about the witch part.

Layla was painfully aware of this factor. Dating back in the 19th century she discovered at a very young age that even your own family discriminates what you are. She wasn't ashamed of what she was,; she was ashamed that people couldn't open their eyes a little—just a little and see the beauty of something they stubbornly refused to see.

She reached the end of the street, stopping at number 1111. It was an enormous, run down establishment. Thirty years or so ago, it was an upbeat opera house but closed down due to a fire from a stage act gone wrong. It had never reopened, but proved to be a warm and safe household to any that may use it. Layla had already been living here for one month and already she had come across several other homeless people here. Some were funny, interesting, and a joy to have around. Others—not so much. Layla didn't like to resort to magic, but coming face-to-face with a drug addict who hasn't had their dose in a few days can be a frightening situation.

Ignoring the front entrance that was boarded and nailed shut, Layla wandered to the side of the building where many objects were huddled under the window. She climbed in, greeted immediately by the familiar musky scent of her home. Like many places in New Orleans, the style of the building was French and proved to be a particularly handsome building, even when it was shabby and run down.

She made her way down the isle between the many rows of red velvet seats that faced the astronomical stage. At the left side of the room, the shattered remnants of the fallen chandelier remained dusty, and spider infested.

As she walked up the stage steps, a pair of eyes caught hers and she turned. The large ginger tabby sat a few feet from her, bushy tail swaying from side to side as he stared up at her. Adan was quite possibly one of the most ugliest cats she had ever acquainted with. His eyes were a brownish yellow color and his face was oddly squashed, as if he had run head-long into a brick wall. His mouth slooped slightly, revealing his under bite like it was too heavy for his face. He had a comically permanent grumpy look, and Layla absolutely adored him.

"Yes, I know," said Layla. "Tell your brothers and sisters I have some food."

Adan sat there for several moments, doing nothing. Then with a final _meowrf, _he swished his tail again and faced his fluffy rear to Layla before trotting away.

There were _some _stereotypes that proved to be true, however. Such as cats. Layla loved animals in general, but the cat was the witch's key insignia and she found that they were the most easy to communicate with. She didn't consider any of them to be her possession or property, merely friends she had made along the way. Also, they were damned good at keeping the mice population down.

Backstage Layla returned to the dressing room she occupied as her bedroom. It was cozier than you would think; a single bed was placed in the corner with clean sheets and blankets that she washed regularly at the dry cleaners. The shelves were littered with the necessities any person might need; shampoo, soap, toilet paper, etc.

The vanity had much more interesting things, however. Things that would peak anyone's interest at first glance. A leather bound book was propped up against the mirror, strangely significant-looking even if it was so simple. In a mixing bowl there were various bundles of herbs and plants, most of them black from being burned previously. In a bronze bowl there was about seven or eight dice, but not with numbers. On each side there was a specific rune that was made for telling the future. Layla didn't have much use for these, however. Some witches were given the gift of foresight; she was not one of those witches.

Bird feathers of numerous colors and designs hung from strings along the mirror's surface. Along the glass were several markings that would most definitely put any stranger at unease, but the images were not harmful. Quite contrary; Layla had made them for protection and good fortune.

With a small wave of her hand, the candles that were placed around the room lit up one by one and illuminated the atmosphere in a intimate fashion.

As she stripped off her jacket and sat down on the bed which made the springs squeak, she opened the paper bag and opened the carton of steaming crayfish gumbo. Almost instantaneously the figures of over half a dozen felines emerged from the shadows, mewing hungrily as the seafood scent filled the air.

Layla took a few bites before throwing pieces of meat and crawfish at the cats and watching them fight over it. A few moments later, Adan waddled over to the bed and leaped up upon Layla's lap, rubbing his ugly head against her front and making it nearly impossible for her to eat. She patted his soft head before placing her almost-finished bowl on the floor and allowing the other cats to eat the remnants of the food.

Tomorrow was Halloween, and Layla was determined to stay indoors for the entire event, especially since there were a new pair of hunters in town. She really did have to think seriously on the topic, though or else she could end being burned at the post. She didn't want to inflict any harm upon the young hunters if it wasn't necessary, and it wouldn't be unless they tried to hurt her. She knew it would be next to impossible for them to see her side of the story, so confronting them outright wouldn't be very affective.

But what if she could . . . lead them in the right direction without revealing her identity to them? It would be risky getting that close to them but the conclusion would be much more dire if she did nothing at all. She could find them, tell them she's a hunter or some other story, and ask for their aid in hunting down the witch that has been killing people. People would stop dying, the hunters would be on their way, and Layla would remain safe.

The plan wasn't exactly foolproof but it was enough to give Layla confidence. Yes, she would find the boys tomorrow and offer her help to find the witch and hopefully go unnoticed by either of the two. It should work, shouldn't it? Just as long as she kept a low profile in their presence.

Feeling the essence of tiredness encase her, the fire's light dimmed down with a careless flick of her hand and she snuggled under the covers with Adan softly purring at her side.

Strangely though, when Layla thought of what she wanted most in this world, freedom and peace were the first things that came into her mind. But over the past two-hundred and seventy years Layla had almost spent each and every one of those days alone. No one wanted to be in the company of a witch.

So when she really thought about it, the thing that she desired most was almost something like . . . something like a friend.

* * *

**Hey, so I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter of this story and I hope you like Layla, even if you've seen very little of her so far. I'm pretty excited for this story and I hope you guys are, too. **

**So! If it's not too much trouble, maybe leave a review telling me what you think so far and if you'd be interested in reading more? I'd super duper appreciate it!**

**Happy Halloween, and don't let the goblins bite! ;)**


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